


We shall meet in the place where there is no darkness

by Skrigget



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Detective Comics (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Brothers, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Kidnapping, Matter of Life and Death, READ NOTES, Sibling Bonding, Triggers, heavy stuff, injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-02
Updated: 2018-02-02
Packaged: 2019-03-12 11:56:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13546833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skrigget/pseuds/Skrigget
Summary: Tim opens his eyes slowly, head hurting and his limps heavy. It looks like a warehouse of some sort. Then he sees the person lying just a few feet away from him.It’s Damian in his Robin outfit.--Red Robin and Robin are caught by the Joker, locked inside a warehouse with a bomb.





	We shall meet in the place where there is no darkness

**Author's Note:**

> Seriously, this is heavy stuff. Lots of angst and talk about death. Some suicide stuff (beware). Mostly sibling bonding though. I basically just wanted sappy, sad, angsty Tim and Damian bonding and helping each other (sorta) and also this idea wouldn't leave my mind so..
> 
> I'm posting this instead of sleep. 
> 
> Title: from George Orwell's ''1984'' 
> 
> Not beta-read and I'm really tired atm so probably some typos

_Who tells then, when we say nothing, a better story than any of us have ever done? The silence._

Karen Blixen, "det ubeskrevne blad"

 

Tim opens his eyes slowly, head hurting and his limps heavy. He swallows a groan and looks around. There isn’t much to see honestly. It looks like a warehouse of some sort (because when is not – criminals are not very original these days) and at first Tim thinks he’s alone in the building. Then he sees the body lying just a few feet away from him. At first, he stares at it cautiously, his eyes narrowed as he glares at the back of the person. Then he recognizes the uniform and his eyes widen.

It’s Damian in his Robin outfit.

Tim sits up then and the movement makes his head throb and bile rise in his throat instantly. He swallows it down and takes another look around before he gets up and walks over to the younger boy who still hasn’t moved.

(Tim can’t even properly see if his body is rising with the movement of breathing and that scares the shit out of him)

He gets to his knees next to Damian and gently rouses him. When nothing happens, he shakes him harder and somewhat desperately.  

“Da – Robin,” he says. “Robin, wake up. _Robin_.”

Damian makes a noise and opens his eyes. He stares right at Tim and the two of them simply look at one another without blinking for a few seconds.

Then Tim asks, “Are you alright?”

And Damian grunts which Tim isn’t sure what to do with, honestly.

“Can you get up?” Tim goes on.

“Yes,” Damian says, hisses almost, and manages to get his body into a sitting position. The motion causes him to flinch and his hands flies to his chest instantly, pressing hard against it.

Tim feels fear grip his heart.

“What’s wrong?” he asks. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” Damian declares harshly.

“Is it your rips?” Tim goes on relentlessly.

“I told you – “

“Let me see.”

“I said I’m fine!”

Tim rolls his eyes and moves so he sits right in front of the younger boy. Damian glares at him but Tim shoots him an unimpressed look. He lets his eyes fall to Damian’s chest. And it’s a testament to the pain he must actually be in that Damian hasn’t moved the hand away just to make Tim forget about this and move on.

That seems like a bad sign.

“Not your rips,” Tim mumbles. “Move your hand for me.”

“No.”

“Robin,” Tim seethes. “Seriously, we don’t – “

“Where are we anyway?” Damian goes on and looks around. He takes in the warehouse and Tim glares at him before he sighs heavily and looks around as well. It’s an empty warehouse, of sorts. It’s not very big but the ceilings are high up and there are no windows and only one door which Tim is willing to bet his life on is firmly locked. There are some flickering lights above them, bathing them in a weak, yellow glow.

“No idea,” Tim answers.

“Who caught us?” Damian goes on as he stares at the door.

Tim tilts his head and he ponders the question.

Red Robin had been on patrol that night when he had gotten a call from Batman, asking for assistance in their part of the city. When he’d arrived, Robin had been fighting some thugs wearing grotesque, multi-colored pig masks. Red Robin had jumped in to help, Robin had snarled some angry comment, Red Robin had retaliated, they had fought the criminals while snarling at each other and –

Then there’d been green smoke, appearing basically out of nowhere and before Tim could reach for the mask in his utility belt, the gas had reached him and gone to his head almost instantly. He remembers, vaguely, his knees buckling under him and seeing Damian fall to the ground before everything went black.

“It looked like Joker’s men,” Tim answers, “with that get-up but I can’t be sure.”

Damian doesn’t bother with an answer. He stares at the door ahead of them with his eyebrows furrowed and his hand still pressed against his chest. Tim is about to ask him to move his hand again when Damian proclaims, “There is a knife.”

Tim looks up. He stares a Damian and follows his gaze. This is when he realizes that he isn’t actually looking at the door but something just in front of it. And Damian is indeed correct: it is a knife.

Tim feels a chill run ruthlessly through him.

There is nothing terrifying about the knife; it is simple, black handle, looks slightly rusted and used. An ordinary knife if not with a slightly larger blade than a normal kitchen knife. But the very fact that the knife is the only thing in this warehouse except for themselves is enough for Tim to realize that this is a very bad sign.

“What – “ he begins but is interrupted by a voice suddenly booming out from somewhere above them.

“Well, well, well,” the Joker’s voice screeches out. “Look what the cat dragged in. Two little birdies.”

Tim swallows hard and stares around him, trying to pinpoint where the voice is coming from.

“Well,” Joker goes on, “what to do, what to do.” He hums. And then says, suddenly, as if abruptly remembering himself, “Oh that’s right. I should probably tell them about the bomb.”

Tim stiffens instantly, his breath caught in his throat and his eyes widening slightly. He snaps his eyes to look at Damian who meets his gaze; eyes widened as well.

There is already something horribly familiar about the scene and Tim feels slightly nauseous.

An empty warehouse.

A robin (or in this case two).

A bomb.

The Joker’s scratching laughter.

“Ah,” Joker goes on conversationally. “No trouble, of course, I’m sure the little robins are more than capable of disarming one, silly, little, harmless bomb.” He laughs. “But, oh that’s right, I almost forgot.” He sighs heavily, and the sound is too loud in the otherwise deadly quiet space. “I’m afraid it won’t be that easy.”

Damian finally snaps. “You useless bastard I will personally remove your – “

“The problem is, you see,” Joker continues and his voice drowns out Damian’s instantly. “The problem is that the bomb is _inside_ one of them.”

Damian shuts up immediately and Tim swallows hard several times just to keep the bile down. He stares at the younger boy again, but Damian has closed his eyes and the hand pressed against his chest is trembling slightly.

“Which one, which one,” Joker sings. “Oh, that’s right! The little, murderous one.”

Tim closes his eyes as Joker’s insane laughter gets louder and louder around them until it feels like they’re drowning in the horrible sound.

Tim doesn’t open his eyes – can’t, _won’t_ – until Joker says, “But not to worry, not to worry. It’s in his heart,“ –  Tim cannot help the sudden whimper that escapes his lips – “so if his heart just _stops_ beating then the other one will be just fine. Ah yes,” Joker hums contently. “I always liked the little red birdy best.”

And then suddenly Tim’s eyes open and he stares directly at the knife in front of them. He is trembling by now, he realizes. He stares at the knife as if in a trance. Everything around him and inside him has slowed down, as if everything is suddenly in slow-motion. Except for Joker’s horrible, horrible voice as it beams the last words.

“Two minutes to go. Ah, I do like catching them robins. It’s so much fun. Please. Try to be as entertaining as the last one. I could have spent hours with him. Oh, if only. Well, this time I get two birds with one stone. Or do I? Tick-tock, tick-tock. Bye, bye little _birdies_.”

For the last part of Joker’s twisted speech the two robins sit as if frozen by the horrible situation but when the last words have left the man’s mouth and the warehouse is once again filled with silence, they move at exactly the same time.

Tim’s body moves before his mind has caught on to what is going on around him. All he is aware of is that Damian – Robin in his little uniform – is moving quickly – too quickly – towards the rusted knife in front of them. Tim can only too vividly imagine what he will do with it and he must get it first.

“ _No_!” he hears himself scream as he throws himself towards the weapon, a desperation settling into his bones that makes his skin itch and his breath scratch his throat. He notices none of this, of course. All he is aware of is this:

The knife.

Damian.

Damian moving towards the knife.

Joker’s voice is on repeat in Tim’s head as he sees Damian grab the handle of the knife just before Tim’s own fingers can close around the blade and pull it out of Damian’s reach.

( _the bomb is_ inside _one of them_

_It’s in his heart_

_if his heart just_ stops _beating_ )

If not for the fact that Damian is injured – and all of the sudden Tim knows all too well why Damian chest hurts – it would have been too late. However, Tim manages to grab Damian’s wrist before the little boy pushes the knife against and into his own chest. Damian screeches like a wild animal as Tim twist his wrist, not caring if he breaks it; all he needs is for Damian to let go, let go, let _go_ dammit –

Damian tries to knock Tim away with an impressive kick in his stomach but because of their awkward position on the floor, it isn’t as powerful as normally. Tim gasps for air, ignores it and tries to twist Damian’s free arm behind his back. Damian cranes his neck back suddenly, in an attempt to knock Tim out, but the older boy avoids it and wraps both his legs around Damian’s torso desperately. Damian’s hand, the one not holding the knife, goes for Tim’s eyes but Tim moves forward and bites Damian’s neck so hard he tastes blood in his mouth. The move is sudden and surprisingly enough that Damian is baffled for a brief second.

That brief second is all Tim needs.

He finally manages to secure Damian’s free hand behind his back, twisting it painfully, legs wrapping tighter around Damian’s body is an almost choking hold that must be hurting the injured boy. With a desperate growl Tim tugs and twist at Damian’s wrist which finally break with ‘crack’ – the sound similar to that of a twig or branch snapping in two – and is followed by Damian’s surprised scream.

The knife falls uselessly from Damian’s hand and Tim throws his body back and away from the weapon.

This results in Red Robin on his back, Damian doing his utmost to punch the air out of him to get up.

Tim manages to kick the weapon away and sit up quickly. He secures Damian’s other arm behind his back as well and Damian lets out a frustrated yell. Tim has never heard him sound so angry and desperate all at once.

They are both breathing heavily, Tim gasping for air and Damian choking slightly on his own breath, probably from the pain. Tim is acutely aware that if not for the fact that Damian is severely injured, Tim would have lost that battle just then. He would have _lost,_ and Damian would have twisted the _knife_ into his own chest, succeeding in _stabbing_ himself to death.

“Let go,” Damian suddenly says. “Let go this instant, Drake.”

“No!” Tim answers instantly, still out of breath. “No.”

Damian struggles in Tim’s hold but the older boy is (mostly) uninjured and thrumming with panic and adrenaline, so he accomplishes nothing except hurting himself further. Damian lets out a weak whimper and Tim’s heart breaks.

“Dam – Robin,” Tim says. “Are… are you alright?”

Damian actually laughs; cold, heartlessly, somewhat choked. “Don’t be an idiot.”

“I’m sorry about your wrist,” Tim says because he can still hear the sound of the bone breaking in his head, “but I would do it again if I had to.”

“What are you hoping to get out of this?” Damian sounds desperate. “Let me go and – “

“No,” Tim says harshly. “I won’t. You’re… I’m not going to let you… to let you…”

Tim cannot finish that sentence.

“This is pointless,” Damian seethes. “You will die, too!”

Tim takes a couple of seconds for Damian’s words to sink in, to let the reality that in a couple of minutes the bomb inside of Damian’s chest, inside his heart, will go off and obliterate them both really settle over him.

“I don’t care,” he says but even he can hear how his voice is shaking. “I don’t care, Robin.”

“Yes you do!” Damian yells and trashes in Tim’s hold. “This is pointless,” he says again. “What are you trying to accomplish?!”

“I just need to keep you away from that knife.”

“And then what?” Damian practically screams. “In a minute and 27 seconds we’ll both be dead.”

Tim swallows hard and stares at the back of Damian’s head. The hood had been pulled down during their fight and he can see Damian’s silky, black hair. Even in the horrendous, sickly light from above them it still looks soft and inviting. Tim wants to run his hands through it the way he vaguely recalls his mother or one of his nannies doing when he was child. Letting go of Damian, even to comfort him, is not an option, however.

“I am not going to let you – I couldn’t live with myself if… just _no_.”  

“But why?” Damian goes on relentlessly. “You don’t even like me.”

Tim’s heart misses a few bitter beats and he swallows the sour taste in his mouth. He takes a breath before he speaks again. “Maybe not at first,” he admits. “You and I haven’t exactly been… brothers the way Di – Nightwing might’ve wanted us to but…”

“But what?” Damian spits furiously.

“But I still love you,” Tim says and even he is surprised by the sheer honesty of his words. “I love you, you are family and I _will_ protect you. Or die trying.”

His words are followed by a moment of silence. Damian has gone very still in Tim’s hold.

“Then you too must understand my wish to keep you safe, as well,” he decides on saying.

Tim blinks a couple of time before the words registers in his mind. “Robin,” he whispers sadly.

“No, listen,” Damian says, calmer but still with a desperation and panic to his voice that simply scares Tim. “There is no need for you to – for you to stay. I couldn’t… they _need_ you.”

The last three words are nothing but a whisper and Tim barely hears them.

“They need you too,” Tim says.

“It’s inside of me,” Damian argues. “There is no saving me, this martyr thing you are attempting is simply idiotic, Drake, let me go.”

Tim leans his cheek on Damian’s head and closes his eyes. “It’s a trick,” he says then. “There is no bomb.”

“What,” Damian says. “What, how… You don’t know this.”

“Well, neither do you,” Tim says back. “How can we know there’s a bomb?”

“I can feel it inside of me!” Damian screams and inhales sharply, choking on air and his body shakes and trembles with the silent sobs.

“It could still be a trick,” Tim whispers. He swallows hard, blinks away the tears. “I’m not risking it.”

“Well I’m not risking you!”

Tim smiles. He can’t help. It’s so absurd. The two of them, sitting there, holding each other like this. Willing to sacrifice themselves for the other.

 “Too bad, Dames,” Tim whispers and feels a tear slide down his face.

“Please,” Damian begs then and Tim’s heart just keeps breaking and breaking and breaking. “ _Please_.”

Tim holds him closer against his chest and wishes desperately that he could hold him more comfortably. “I’m sorry,” he says instead. “I’m so, so sorry. For everything.”

“One minute, birdies,” Joker’s voice booms above them. “What will you do, what will you do.”

Tim squeezes his eyes closed and hold his breath, afraid he will scream or cry if let’s go. Damian shivers in his hold and Tim has never wanted more in his life to comfort this boy, this child, who is only eleven years old and Tim hates himself for not realizing before.

He inhales sharply and opens his eyes, tries to blink away the tears and breathe through the sudden, abrupt need to break down.

“I never understood why Grandfather was so obsessed with you,” Damian whispers.

Tim notices that the boy has gone vaguely slack in his arms, as if all fight and will has left his small, beaten and broken body.

“Me neither,” Tim mumbles as he stares at the door ahead of them.

“I do now, though,” Damian goes on. “I understand.”

“Oh,” Tim only says.

“I am sorry too,” Damian whispers.

Tim does something then that he would have never imagined himself doing but this situation is already so bizarre and grotesque. He kisses Damian’s hair.

“I know, baby bat,” Tim mumbles into his black strands. “I know.”

“Do you…” Damian swallows hard. “Do you think there’ll be anything to – to bury?”

“There is no bomb,” Tim whispers.

“Drake – “

“No,” Tim says stubbornly and swallows several times. Damian can probably feel just how bad his entire body is shaking. “No, there is no bomb. It’s all a trick.”

“It wasn’t a trick with Hood,” Damian says.

“But it is now.”

“What if – “

“No, Robin, it’s a trick!” Tim is almost screaming by then. “There is no bomb!”

He inhales deeply, tries to calm down but there are only about 40 second left and it’s not enough, it’s not enough, it’s not enough. Even if Bruce and the cavalry were to burst through the door that very second there would be no saving Damian anymore, no way to perform any form of surgery safely. And, Tim realizes, under no circumstances is he leaving Damian alone. Damian’s been alone too long. Tim has as well. He will die here, holding onto Robin urgently, or they will both be saved. There is no in-between anymore, no other options as far as he is concerned.

He wishes desperately for his utility belt or his comms or anything.

The warehouse is too big and too quiet and too hollow.

He wonders if this was how Jason felt in his last seconds; tired and so damn afraid.

Tim feel sick just thinking about it but he cannot help but be slightly grateful that he won’t go down alone. That he has someone to hold in his arms for these last, precious second.

There is no bomb there is no bomb there is no bomb there is –

“Grayson will be sad we’re missing Christmas,” Damian whispers.

Tim snorts. “Yeah,” he whispers. “Did you get him a present yet?”

“Of course. I drew him a picture of his family.”

Tim finds himself smiling. “That’s nice. He’ll love it.”

“I even got you and Todd presents.”

Tim swallows a sob. “Oh really? I got you one as well.”

“Really?” Damian sounds so damn hopeful in that second and Tim cannot help but adjust their position.

He loosens his hold enough he can pull Damian against his chest and wrap his arms securely around him. Damian doesn’t attempt to pull free.

They’re nearing the last ten seconds rapidly.

“Of course, little brother,” Tim says. “You’ll love it.”

“What is it?” Damian asks.

“Not saying.”

“Timothy,” Damian whispers, his eyes closed. “Please.”

And Tim understand too well just what Damian is asking. It hurts to know that despite Tim’s best efforts, Damian is certain that death will befall them both shortly. It hurts to know that Damian has accepted it. It hurts so much.

“A puppy,” Tim says, and it feels like admitting that he knows, too, that the bomb is real. “Me and Jason and Steph. Bruce will go livid.” He laughs. “It’s at Steph’s. We’ve named it Mephistoles.”

Damian snorts. “It will be in good hands. Thank you, Timothy.”

“You’re welcome, Dames.”

Tim wishes more than anything that he could’ve seen the look on Damian’s face when they handed the puppy to him on Christmas morning. He wants Damian to look surprised and happy and take the dog into his arms and look at it. He wants Jason to grin, Steph to laugh, Cass to smirk secretly, Dick to look baffled but pleased, Bruce to look bewildered and slightly tired and Alfred to sigh but hide a fond smile behind his tea cup. He wants Damian to introduce Mephistoles to Titus and Alfred the cat and -

The Joker’s loud voice cuts off any further thoughts. ‘’Are you ready little Robins? Ten, nine, eight – “

Tim kisses Damian’s temple, inhales sharply, feels the tear make their way down his face slowly.

“I love you too,” Damian says then and he looks at Tim. Their eyes meet, and Tim can do nothing but nod.

“I know,” he says. “I know.”

Tears are running down Damian’s cheeks. “And I’m sorry too, I never – “

“Shh,” Tim hushes him and presses Damian’s face gently, soothingly against his chest. He kisses the top of his head and rests his chin on it. “It’s okay, everything is okay. We’ll be just fine.”

“Five, four, three – “

In those last two second time seems to slow down. Tim knows, logically, in the far back of his mind, that it is, of course, not the case. This is not an action movie. No one will save them miraculous. But in those last two second – that stretches on and on, into infinity – he feels grateful. He also feels sad and cheated and so damn _angry_ but mostly grateful; that he has brothers and a sister and a dad and Alfred and friends and teammates. He feels grateful that he had such a good life. He doesn’t want it to be over. That is the loudest thought as the last second makes itself known: he wants to live, he wants _Damian_ to live.

He opens his mouth to say – something, anything but above them the Joker’s voice screams the last number –

“One!”

– and Tim clings to Damian as the world disappears and everything turns black.

**

Tim opens his eyes slowly, head hurting and his limps heavy. He swallows a groan and looks around and is hit with the sudden feeling of déjà vu. For a few seconds he is confused.

He is lying on something soft, he can feel the cotton beneath his fingertips and a pillow below his head. There is a blinding, white light above him and his mouth feels dry. He blinks a couple of time, wondering where he is and how he got here.

And then he remembers so suddenly he gasps for air and jerks.

He tries to sit up instantly but there are hands on his chest pushing him down, hushing him, whispering sweet nothings into his ear but Tim is dazed and confused and all he remembers is Damian’s tearful eyes and his trembling voice ( _I love you too, And I’m sorry, Thank you, Timothy_ ) and he tries to scream his little brother’s name but his throat is scratchy and his tongue too big and heavy.

“Shh, calm down, Tim, calm down, it’s okay, everything is alright. You’re safe. I promise you, you are safe.”

He doesn’t recognize the voice, but it tugs at his memories, something tries to make itself known in his mind, but he is too tired, too heavy, too numb.

He wants to ask where Damian is, wants to know what happened, where is he, where is the Joker, what happened, what happened –

“Give him some more, Alfred, he is panicking.”

“Right away, Master Bruce.”

“No,” Tim moans. “No, no.”

“Shh, everything is okay.”

“No, wait… wait…”

Before Tim can say anything else – or attempt to – a heavy darkness falls upon him and pulls him under and into a dreamless sleep.

**

When he awakens next there is a body lying next to his own. He thinks this might’ve been why he woke up in the first place, actually; because there is a small hand pressing sharply into his rips. He moves it slightly and the person stirs but doesn’t seem to wake.

That is when reality settles in and Tim actually, properly looks at the person next to him.

The boy.

The little boy.

Damian.

His brother.

He wants to cry all of the sudden but he refrains and instead inhales sharply and leans down to place a kiss on Damian’s forehead.

Damian, who is lying half on top of Tim, groans at this and opens his eyes slowly.

He is dressed in a white pajamas and Tim can see the bandages wrapped around his chest through it. It makes his own chest tighten painfully.

“Is that a new habit of yours?” Damian asks, and he sounds slightly disoriented and, frankly, high. He must bee on a lot of morphine, Tim registers vaguely before he smiles. Their eyes meet and Damian’s eyes are free of tears and clear blue and alive.

“Not necessarily,” Tim answers in a low voice.

Damian huffs. “I didn’t know you were such a sap, Drake.”

Tim chuckles. “Oh, shut up, you’re the one cuddling me.”

“Payback,” Damian answers hotly but without any real fire.

Tim grins but then his eyes land on Damian’s other hand and he sees the bandages around his broken wrist. He swallows hard and stares at it silently.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

Damian furrows his eyebrows and glares at the older boy for a moment or two. “Don’t be absurd, Drake. You did what you had to do. I forgive you.”

Tim looks at him again – really looks at him – and that’s when he realizes, understand, properly what it means that they are lying here, talking to one another in what he presumes is the batcave. And a grin pulls at his lips.

“Told you there wasn’t a bomb,” he mumbles. “Unless we’re both dead and this is heaven in which case I’m a little disappointed, I must say.”

Damian snorts. “As if we would make it to heaven, Drake.”

Tim laughs. “Point.”

“And actually, it was defect.”

“Oh,” Tim says and blinks several times. “Why did we pass out then?”

“Grayson told me the Joker filled the room with poison when he understood that the bomb had not done its job,” Damian says. “The poison didn’t do a very good job either, apparently.”

“Good thing Joker is so useless, huh,” Tim says.

“Indeed.”

An abrupt feeling of relief is settling into, onto, around Tim and he feels so grateful, so happy to be alive that he wants to cry and laugh and scream and run into the world right now.

But instead he pulls Damian against his chest, rest his head on top of his and closes his eyes.

“Who is cuddling who now, Drake,” Damian remarks.

“Oh, shut up,” Tim whispers. He smiles. “You’re not struggling, I notice.”

“That is merely because I’m injured, you imbecile.”

“Oh, is it now.”

“Tt, I take it back, I have no idea what Grandfather sees in such a – “

“Shh,” Tim hushes gently and Damian actually obliges. “Everyone will be on us the second they realize we’re awake. I want to get some sleep before that.”

Damian is silent for a second. “Very well then. Goodnight, Drake.”

Tim closes his eyes.

“Goodnight, Dames.”


End file.
